fic: for george
It's actually George Harrison's 10th death anniversary, and I wanted to write something about him. He's my favorite Beatle, favorite musician probably, and he still makes me emotional many years after I first fell in love with him and his music when I was a kid and my dad made me listen to all those Beatles records. (Here Comes the Sun is my favorite song, still. It makes me happy :D )
You know how people have these people who inspire them? George is one of those for me. The way he viewed life, his friendships, how he loved - it takes my breath away and can only hope that I'm able to live my life the same way. Plus he had a wicked sense of humor so he was just a flawless human being, ok? :p
Alright, I'll stop being sappy now. Go listen to a George song (Something is not a Lennon/McCartney song, ok, FUUUU Frank Sinatra) and appreciate his awesomeness.
It’s a good day.
The sun is out, its bright translucent light a perfect complement to the quiet chill of winter slowly settling down. It’s been a while since George felt the warmth touching his face, and he still appreciates it, the sensation of bathing in light and life overwhelming him.
It’s a good life.
He looks around him, and the pain that’s been threatening to claim his entire existence subsides into a discordant hum beneath the quiet certainty of serenity. Like, a wayward bass line from Paul drowned by the unmistakable twang of John’s guitar solo or the playful crash of Ringo’s cymbals. Or maybe like his own attempt to understand life despite the screaming, the fame, the childhood dream that became the meaning of his every breath, every lyric, every chord.
Or so it seems.
Yet his happiness lies in the way that he breathes, life coursing on through the frailty of what is physical and tangible. And it has always been that way, because as he sits here, looking at the colors of autumn fade into white, he realizes even more that it all goes on.
Nothing ever fades away.
He looks up at the sky and the memories come flooding through. Many years (or maybe a lifetime) ago, he sat in a garden, surrounded by music and friendship and love. And now, nothing much has changed, except he sees a different kind of light when the warmth of the sun touches his face. He takes a deep breath and decides to embrace the inevitable.
The beautiful.
He feels Olivia touch his face. There are tears in her eyes. It’s alright, he tells her. Here comes the sun. And she laughs, and he keeps the sound safe in his heart. When she kisses him, she knows better than to have it feel like goodbye. And then he knows.
It’s been a good day.
It’s been a good life.
He faces the sun and smiles.
It’s alright.
You know how people have these people who inspire them? George is one of those for me. The way he viewed life, his friendships, how he loved - it takes my breath away and can only hope that I'm able to live my life the same way. Plus he had a wicked sense of humor so he was just a flawless human being, ok? :p
Alright, I'll stop being sappy now. Go listen to a George song (Something is not a Lennon/McCartney song, ok, FUUUU Frank Sinatra) and appreciate his awesomeness.
It’s a good day.
The sun is out, its bright translucent light a perfect complement to the quiet chill of winter slowly settling down. It’s been a while since George felt the warmth touching his face, and he still appreciates it, the sensation of bathing in light and life overwhelming him.
It’s a good life.
He looks around him, and the pain that’s been threatening to claim his entire existence subsides into a discordant hum beneath the quiet certainty of serenity. Like, a wayward bass line from Paul drowned by the unmistakable twang of John’s guitar solo or the playful crash of Ringo’s cymbals. Or maybe like his own attempt to understand life despite the screaming, the fame, the childhood dream that became the meaning of his every breath, every lyric, every chord.
Or so it seems.
Yet his happiness lies in the way that he breathes, life coursing on through the frailty of what is physical and tangible. And it has always been that way, because as he sits here, looking at the colors of autumn fade into white, he realizes even more that it all goes on.
Nothing ever fades away.
He looks up at the sky and the memories come flooding through. Many years (or maybe a lifetime) ago, he sat in a garden, surrounded by music and friendship and love. And now, nothing much has changed, except he sees a different kind of light when the warmth of the sun touches his face. He takes a deep breath and decides to embrace the inevitable.
The beautiful.
He feels Olivia touch his face. There are tears in her eyes. It’s alright, he tells her. Here comes the sun. And she laughs, and he keeps the sound safe in his heart. When she kisses him, she knows better than to have it feel like goodbye. And then he knows.
It’s been a good day.
It’s been a good life.
He faces the sun and smiles.
It’s alright.